child!" she said, casting a glance over the sombre furnishings of the chamber. "Why have they not sent you some curtains? You must ask Baptiste for any little articles which you need."
"You are very kind, madam. But what more do I need? Nothing. This is the end. A little better or a little worse, what does it matter?"
And, turning her head, she began to weep.
"Do you suffer much, my poor child?" inquired Madame de Piennes, seating herself beside the bed.
"No, not much, only I have always in my ears the rushing sound as of wind when I fell, and then the noise—crack! when I struck the pavement."
"You were mad then, my dear; you are sorry for it now, are you not?"
"Yes; but when people are unhappy, they are no longer in their right mind."
"I deeply regret that I did not know your position sooner. But, my child, under no circumstances ought we to abandon ourselves to despair."
"That is easy enough for you to say," said the doctor, who was writing a prescription at the little table. "You do not know what it
